Inside Peek: Undaunted Joy
Special edition this month: guest post
My friend Shemaiah Gonzalez wrote a book about JOY! And who doesn’t need that right now? So, I’m sharing an excerpt from her book for you to enjoy this month. Here’s the link if you’d like to buy a copy and continue reading.
in a small moment: haircut
by Shemaiah Gonzalez, from Undaunted Joy
Mr. Chiang does not walk; he shuffles. I watch him from my window, and if I’m out in the yard, I holler hellooo, and he turns all shades of red, smiles, and gestures a floppy wave like a five- year- old instead of the septuagenarian he is. He walks away holding his hands behind his back, looking down at the ground. Humble. Meek.
I want to honor Mr. Chiang more, like the elder he is, but language gets in the way. He speaks Chinese. I do not.
I do, however, know his habits. I know he wears too-large khaki pants, and I am unsure if they ever did fit him snug. I know that in the mornings, he jogs the perimeter of the tiny city park down the street, then hangs from the children’s monkey bars for a full minute, just hanging in traction, lengthening his body and spine for the day. I know he mows his lawn every other Thursday, and in the summer, he grows greens that he clips for dinner with scissors. And I know he often buries some sort of root in a jar in his front yard. He is not secretive about this, but I like to imagine it is some sort of magic potion.
Mr. Chiang has lived across the street from me for over fifteen years. When we first moved in, Mr. Chiang had a college- aged son and Mrs. Chiang. His son has since moved away, married, had children, and built a successful military career that has taken him all over the world. And Mrs. Chiang, well, she died years ago. With each glimpse of her outside, we watched cancer melt her body away, until she did not come out of the house anymore.
I remember the day Mr. Chiang came to our fence with a piece of yellow lined paper with the number to a cab company. With broken English he asked my husband to call to schedule a pickup for Mrs. Chiang’s doctor appointment in the morning. My husband drove them instead. He saw from the rearview mirror the pain in Mrs. Chiang’s eyes each time he drove over a pothole or speed bump, even when he slowed the car to a crawl. When she was alive, she and Mr. Chiang wore matching gray utilitarian sweatpants while they did tai chi in the park. They moved and breathed in unison, but now it is just him.
It must be a lonely life, I think. My family reaches out with baked goods and a bounty when our apple- pear tree gives forth. Mr. Chiang is always grateful, smiles and nods, remembers us on Chinese New Year. But I think he understands loneliness differently than we do. He embraces it. He has his routine and his home and moves through life needing less than the rest of us. I think it is called contentment.
One routine I have not been able to figure out; it isn’t regular. It doesn’t happen on the fifth Friday or the first of the month. About once a month, Mr. Chiang’s brother comes over. The second Mr. Chiang is younger, a bit rounder at the edges, and has pants that fit. Rain or sun, the two of them pull a kitchen chair to the covered porch on the front of the house, and the two Mr. Chaings cut each other’s hair.
This venture takes far longer than it should for two straightforward haircuts of elderly men with not much hair to begin with. The one cutting will don one of Mrs. Chiang’s colorful aprons and drape a towel around the shoulders of the other. A comb, spray bottle, straight scissors, clippers, and brush for the back of the neck are involved. And they smile. Soft murmurs of conversation drift back and forth from brother to brother, and sometimes one will close his eyes, smile, and shake his head from side to side.
When I come upon the moment, it is always by surprise, never expected. I feel a sense of awe but also embarrassment—like perhaps I shouldn’t look. I shouldn’t see this gentle moment between elderly brothers. They are meticulous and tender. It is the happiest I see Mr. Chiang all month. And when I see it, I know something holy is happening.
Updates
Publisher’s Weekly made the announcement on August 6 that I signed Twice Rebels with Zondervan (thanks to Andrea Palpant Dilley and Keely Boeving!). It comes out next October 2026! Soli deo gloria!
Pepperdine faculty started back to school on August 11, and students begin August 18. We’ve had an explosion of interest in Great Books here! It’s a 40 year old program that is just getting stronger with age. I shared our success on social media, but do check us out. We’re introducing students to a 3000-year-old conversation reading from Homer to Simone Weil over two years.
This semester I’m not traveling as much in order to finish writing my book Twice Rebels. But I’ll be at Westmont in August for their opening faculty retreat, George Fox in September for their Educating Character workshops, Annapolis/DC for the Classical Learning Test higher education summit in October, and Montreat College for chapel in November. My 2026 is all booked out for the year, and I’ll try to share the list when I can.
What I’m Reading
In addition to reading The Lost Hero with my kids, I just finished the audiobook of Project Hail Mary and cannot wait for the film. I’m now reading/listening to Nancy French’s Ghosted and would recommend it. She’s a good storyteller—funny, great attention to detail, and captivating narrative.
Of course, the semester begins, and I’m mostly reading Paradise Lost and all the other 1600-1850s great books for my course. I recommend Heretics for a fun overview graphic-novel style.
As always, please share what you’re reading. Blessings on your school year.
